The headmaster sat in his big chair with five teachers squeezed into the too-small office. The air felt like a cooking pot; everyone was sweating, JK included. He was soaked through and crying like I’d never seen before. Truthfully, seeing that ugly face tear up made me wince — pitiful, but satisfying after what he’d done to me.
There were no chairs for everyone, so I stood with the senior boys’ prefect. I didn’t enjoy being there. The memory of my last trip to that room rolled across my mind like an old film.
“Are you the senior on duty?” the headmaster asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re in JK’s class. Tell me what you know about the theft.”
I swallowed. “Erm, sir—I didn’t see him take it. I was outside with the juniors and only came back when class started. It was during the lesson that the girl said her purse was missing, and later the purse was found in JK’s bag.”
“Do you think he stole it?” the headmaster pressed.
“Sir—well, I don’t know. People steal when times are hard. He could’ve.” I kept my answer vague. He stared for a beat, then dismissed me.
I stayed just outside the door to listen. From inside I heard the headmaster lash out at JK. I stood there, enjoying the sound a little too much, until a teacher’s voice called my name and I ran back to class.
By the time I got there, everyone crowded around me, hungry for details. I told the story, stretching the part about the caning a bit for effect. My mates vowed to make JK pay. The headmaster then walked into our classroom, flanked by the teacher from earlier and JK himself.
“Stay calm,” he told us. “We must finish our investigation.” He warned us not to jeer or call names—any conclusion would wait until the facts were in. I hated it. Why give JK the benefit of the doubt? If it were anyone else—would he be so patient?
The headmaster told JK to sit. He left the class, and tension broke loose. EK shouted, “How can we sit with a thief?” Support rose around him. JK couldn’t stand the insults; he rose and left, weeping.
“Now!” I hissed at my friends. “Teach him a lesson.” They ran out. I was about to follow when someone grabbed my shirt.
“Leave go,” I snapped.
“If you go out, I’ll let the cat out of the bag,” a girl hissed into my ear.
Her words hit me like ice. Had she seen the purse move? Was she the one who planted it? I sat down hard, fear cold in my gut.
